Undertow
by saltedshotgun
Summary: Seventeen year-old Dean goes out with his friends. Thirteen year-old Sam tags along and learns a thing or two about his big brother.


**Undertow  
**Sam, Dean. Gen._  
**  
**__Summary:_ Seventeen year-old Dean goes out with his friends. Thirteen year-old Sam tags along and learns a thing or two about his big brother.  
_Notes:_ Fic is unbeta'd, english is not my first language.  
_Disclaimer:_ I only wish they were mine.

* * *

It's a hot summer, one of the hottest Sam remembers, and of course they have to be stuck inside a tiny, filthy motel room with air conditioning that appears to be broken more often than not.

It wouldn't be so bad if they had something to do but Dad's off hunting and Sam is either under Dean's watchful eye or locked inside the room in the evenings while Dean is out with his buddies and Sam is stuck in because none of his friends are allowed to stay outside for long yet.

And damn, Sam's not sure what's going to kill him first – the heat or the boredom.

* * *

"Where are you going?" Sam asks when Dean grabs his leather jacket and opens the door to leave.

"Out," Dean replies and turns around to face Sam from the doorway. "You okay for the evening? I won't be out long."

What Sam thinks is, _how the hell can you walk around in that jacket in this heat?_ but what he says is, "take me with you!" and then winces at how desperate he sounds.

Dean's eyebrows go up. "No," he says after a second and turns to leave, but Sam shoots up from the bed he's sitting on.

"I'll tell Dad if you don't," he says hastily and he knows it's a low blow but he's fucking miserable, locked up inside while Dean's out there doing whatever, having fun.

Dean turns back to him, face blank and eyes narrowed. "No, you won't."

"I will, too," Sam replies quickly and squares his shoulders, lifts up his chin. "That you're leaving me alone almost every night. He's gonna be pissed."

Dean looks honest-to-hell shocked, mouth opening and closing before he seems to gather himself. He takes a deep breath and licks his lips, stepping back into the room and closing the front door behind him.

"I'm going out with my _friends_," he says slowly, emphasizing the last word because they both know Sam's opinion on Dean's _friends_. "I'm going to the lake with – no, no way. No. You're staying."

Sam's lips tighten but before he can say anything, remind Dean that, _Dad, I will tell him,_ Dean throws his arms out.

"Since when do you even want to go? Seriously?"

"Since I'm _bored_," Sam whines, "I'm bored and freaking hot, holed up in this miserable – and – and you are going _to the lake_, swimming," Sam says hopefully and Dean snorts.

"We're not going swimming," he says with a smirk and Sam frows.

"You're going drinking," he says and it's not a question.

"Well, Sammy, you don't say," Dean replies, "and that's also exactly why you're staying, shrimp."

"Nooo," Sam moans and drops back on the bed. Dean watches him for a while, eyebrows pinched.

"I swear I'll be good," Sam says, "I'll sit by and I won't talk, just let me come with you?"

"Fuck," Dean mutters and then says, tone dry and annoyed, "alright then, jesus."

Sam almost pumps his fist in the air. Almost. Dean seems to pick-up on his victory, though, and adds, "but only for a little while, alright? Grab your trunks or something, you freak."

"You don't have yours," Sam points out and Dean smirks again.

"Like I said," he draws out, "I'm not going swimming."

* * *

Sam knows Dean's not happy with him, that he's not at all happy about the entire situation; he can tell from the way Dean's back is almost unnaturally straight, from the way his jaw is set tight – but mostly he can tell from the way Dean doesn't say a single word throughout the whole twenty-minutes-long walk to the lake, eyes fixed right in front of him.

Sam, however, is too excited to be out to really care. Out with Dean, going to a party. He's thirteen year-old and no matter how many time he says Dean's friends are _dicks_ and that he doesn't want to have _anything_ to do with _any_ of them, he still thinks it's kind of exciting. Exciting and cool.

* * *

Dean friends, as expected, _are_ being dicks about the whole thing.

"What the hell, Winchester," one of them yells at them as they walk closer, "you babysitting tonight?"

"Actually, yeah," Dean calls back and ruffles Sam's hair. Sam, who knew it was going to go exactly this way, only slaps Dean's hand away and gives the yelling guy an unamused look.

One of the girls pushes beer into Dean's hand when they get close enough and then looks at Sam, lips puckering. She's blonde, wearing only jean shorts and a bikini top and Sam tries really, really hard not to blush under her gaze.

"He drinking, too?" she asks, giving Sam a contemplative look.

Dean says _no_ at the same time Sam says _yes_ and frowns.

"_No_," he repeats slowly, clipping Sam round the ear when he rolls his eyes.

"We don't have any lemonade, though," the girl grins and one of the guys behind her snorts.

"Or milk," he says. "Milk for the baby," he adds and barks out a laugh. Sam narrows his eyes at him and apparently, so does Dean. "What?" the guy asks. "It was funny."

Dean doesn't dignify that with an answer. "Nah, Sammy's cool, right?" he tells the girl instead, "he's just gonna take a swim and hang out around here before we go back."

Sam nods and she grins at him again. This time, Sam does blush.

"Alright then," one of the guys says and they all turn around to walk away towards the pier, leaving Sam behind. Dean turns to him and quirks his eyebrows in a way that's half reassuring and half threatening.

Sam is used to these disjointed reactions from his brother – he is seventeen after all, and hanging out with you kid brother is about as embarassing as hanging out with your big brother is cool when you're thirteen. Sam gets it and tries not to let it get to him.

Hey, Dean took Sam with him in the end, right? So nothing has changed – Dean is still Dean, except now he has an image to keep in front of his dick friends. Dad says it will pass. Sam, for once, agrees with him.

Taking a deep breath to clear his head, Sam takes off his clothes, leaving only his swimming trunks on, and goes into the water.

* * *

He spends the next two hours alternatively in the lake and sitting under a tree on the shore reading The Alchemist, a book Dean stole for him somewhere.

He watches Dean and his buddies from afar and catches Dean watching him back, several times. His friends do, too, and always punch his brother on the shoulder teasingly, laughing loud enough for even Sam to hear. If it bothers Dean he doesn't let it show; usually, he just snaps his attention and his gaze back to them, smirking and shoving them in return.

He brings Sam a cup of water once, pushes it at him and asks, "you good?"

Sam nods, and it's true – he's on fresh air, hidden in shade and reading. He's fine.

Dean shrugs, ruffles Sam's hair again – God, Sam hates when Dean does that – and goes back to his friends. All of them are only wearing very light clothes; the girls mostly just bikinis or shorts with tiny tops and the guys are all half naked – except for Dean, who is walking around in the heavy leather jacket.

Sam knows why; even though Dean has a reputation of a troublemaker, finger-shaped bruises all over his arms – from their last run-in with a pissed off ghost – are pretty hard to explain. Besides, Sam knows Dean thinks that the leather jacket is cool.

What Sam doesn't know is how Dean manages not to bake in this hellish weather.

His friends, of course, know nothing, and if they find Dean's attire peculiar they don't comment on it as far as Sam can tell. In the end, it's hardly the weirdest thing about his brother.

Sam watches them from afar until the sun goes down and all Sam can see are their silhouettes. Then he pulls out his flashlight and continues reading, enjoying the fresh air that you only get around lakes and rivers and the sea.

* * *

It must be more than an hour later – Sam got lost in the book – when he hears footsteps coming his way. For a second he thinks it must be Dean but realizes the steps are too light and too fast-paced to be his brother's before even lifting his head, and true enough – when he looks up he sees a girl walking towards him, the blonde one he talked to earlier.

She's carrying two cups in her hands and holds one out for Sam to take.

"Juice," she explains. "I sneaked some out for you. We drink it with the vodka," she says offhandedly.

"Thanks," Sam says and takes it, frowning into the cup. The girl sits down next to him and Sam shoots her a panicked glance.

"Andy," she says and holds out her cup with a small smile.

"Sam," Sam replies and holds his out, too. He's never before toasted with _juice_ before, or with a girl for that matter. Usually they toast with whiskey with Dean or with Dad, and not very often; only after completing a makeshift surgery on one of them or something of that sort.

"I know," Andy says, "Dean talks about you quite a lot."

Sam snorts. "I don't really wanna know what he says."

"A lot of nice things, actually. Well, mostly nice things," she amends and smiles at Sam. They are silent for a few moments before Andy continues. "You could come hang out with us, you know. They'd tease but they wouldn't mind that much," she says and Sam shakes his head.

"Nah, I'm fine. I don't really wanna be there, to be honest," he says with a shrug and Andy nods slowly.

"Yeah," she draws out, "I totally understand that."

"Why do _you_ hang out with them?" Sam blurts out and when Andy turns to him with raised eyebrows, he adds, "I mean, uh, you seem..."

"Nicer?" Andy supplies with a smirk and Sam smirks back.

* * *

"I wanted to say different, but yeah, you seem nicer."

"I'm someone's younger sibling, too," she explains and points at the crowd. "That guy? My older brother." She turns to look Sam in the eye. "A jerk," she adds.

Sam laughs softly at that. "Yeah," he says, "I know all about big brothers who are jerks."

A loud burst of laughter interrupts them when one of the guys – Dean, of course it's Dean – picks one of the girls up by her waist as she kicks her legs in the air.

"Dean's only a jerk when he's around other jerks," Andy says, "otherwise he's pretty fun."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, it is nice of him to bring you along," she points out.

"Your brother lets you tag along, too!" Sam says.

"Yeah, but I'm only one year younger than he is," Andy explains. She doesn't look it – Sam is actually surprised she's not older than the rest of them; there's something sensible and grown-up in the way she speaks and it makes Sam all the more surprised that she hangs out with the sort of people like... Well, like Dean, for example. He supposes it's a younger sibling thing. They live to point out their older siblings mistakes.

They watch in silence as Dean carries the kicking, laughing girl closer to the pier, closer to the water. He pretends to throw her in a few times and Sam has to admit he's surprised he can even lift her up, let alone carry her around, with how badly his arms got wrenched on that last hunt.

He can hear the girl's shrieks all the way over to where they're siting when, out of nowhere, another girl comes behind Dean and, with a loud yelp, pushes both Dean and the girl he's harassing over into the lake.

Sam rolls his eyes and can't help a laugh bubbling out of his throat, too, when he hears Andy snort next to him.

"Yeah, I don't really think your brother's gonna stick around while being wet like a dog," she says after a moment and slowly stands up, brushing dirt off her rear.

Sam can't help but stare.

"It was nice meeting you," Andy says then and holds out her hand, but when Sam reaches out for a handshake someone from the pier yells, "help!"

Sam's up and running almost before the cry even reaches them.

The kids are standing around motionless, all laughter dead, and Sam pushes through them to stare at the girl in the water.

"I can't hold him up, he's heavy!" she yells, voice high with panic but Sam already knows what's going on – he jumps in and dives, waving his arms around in the water aimlessly, searching for something of Dean's to grab onto, to pull him up.

Something must have gone wrong, maybe Dean hit his head on the way down and fell unconscious, or maybe –

Sam's hand brushes over something warm and solid – Dean's forearm – and he grabs and pulls.

Dean pushes him away.

Sam frowns. He can't see anything, the water black as ink around him, so he reaches out again and his arms get knocked off the second time. Because Dean is, in his frantic efforts to reach the surface, flailing around like a madman.

Realization hits Sam like a brick; Dean can't swim. That's why he's flailing, that's why he's not swimming up even though he's conscious.

_Dean can't swim. _

He does one quick tempo to get closer, not caring when Dean's arm catches him on the jaw, then on the side of his head – then, at last, _finally_, Dean realizes someone's there's to help him and he grips Sam's shoulder, his forearms, hands grabbing feebly at him without any real goal other than to _hang on_.

Sam tries to get a good hold on Dean, but he's moving too much and dragging them both deeper into the water and like this, Sam is unable to really swim with any efficiency.

Also, Dean really _is_ fucking heavy.

It's the leather jacket, Sam realizes, along with the rest of Dean's clothes, but there's no way he can get it off his brother while he's struggling like this and his air is starting to run out and –

Finally, there is another set of hands on Dean, and along with whoever pulled themself together enough to help, they drag Dean towards the surface, too slow for Sam to draw any comfort from it.

When they break it Sam takes a huge, loud gulp of air before spitting out water he managed to swallow in the short minute he was under. Dean, on the other hand, does nothing; he saggs, head lolling back before Sam grabs the back of his neck to keep him from sinking down again.

"I've got him," the guy who jumped after them says from somewhere close to Sam's ear. "I've got him, let go."

Surprisingly, Sam does, and almost sinks back under the surface himself when Dean's heavy body is out of his hands. In a minute they have him laying on the shore, chest unmoving and Sam staggers next to his brother, falls to his knees and leans against Dean's chest.

That's all it takes.

Dean burst back into life with a loud gasp and Sam pushes him to his side when the lake water bubbles out of his brother's mouth. Dean throws it up with wet, gagging noises and then pulls himself to his knees.

Sam lets out a breath and drops his left hand onto Dean's shoulder with a dull, wet slap of skin on leather. Dean shakes him off.

"Dude, what the fuck," one of the guys says. The one who helped Sam get Dean out is sitting next to them, panting and soaked, and stares at them with wide eyes. "Seriously," the other guy continues, "the fuck?"

"Jeremy!" someone else snaps and the guy shuts up instantly.

"Dean?" Sam asks quietly, leaning closer to his brother to take a look at his face, but it's not like he can see a lot in the dark, anyway.

"Let's go," Dean rasps. Sam bites his lower lip.

"Maybe we should – " he starts but Dean glares at him, still gasping for breath, holding back a coughing fit.

"I said let's go," he heaves out, voice low and stone cold.

Sam nods and reaches for Dean's upper arms to pull him up. Dean slaps his hands off again and Sam wants to snap, _I just saved your fucking life, you jerk, show some fucking gratitude,_ but he bites it back and watches Dean get up slowly under his own steam instead.

Sam can see how wobbly he is, knees and arms shaking, chest straining with each deep gasp for air.

"You okay?" one of the girls asks in a small voice and Dean ignores her completely, straigtening as he starts to walk away. They all stare after him, dumbfounded, and Sam gives a small, uncertain smile to Andy before he turns to the guy sitting on the ground, staring at Sam with huge, uncomprehending eyes.

"Thanks," he says quickly and turns to jog after his brother. Only silence follows them as they leave.

* * *

Dean doesn't speak for most of the way back; it's only after ten minutes of walking that he stops and sways and if it weren't for Sam's arms pressed to his side, he would have probably keeled over.

Still, he pushes Sam away for at least a fifth time that night and Sam snaps, "stop that!"

"I'm fine," Dean rasps out but his voice breaks on the second word and he bends over, falls to one knee and coughs out some more water.

"Man," Sam says and bites his lip again, standing too far for his own comfort and too close for, apparently, Dean's. "maybe we really should go to the – "

"Shut up," Dean rasps and pushes himself up slowly. It takes him two tries to get upright and then he starts walking again.

Sam walks one step behind for a few minutes, slowly, letting Dean set the pace. The he says, "Dean – "

"Shut up," Dean snaps again.

"No!" Sam says, voice raising. "No, I won't! What the hell was that, Dean!"

"I don't wanna – " Dean voice breaks again and he coughs, "don't wanna talk," he finishes lamely.

"How come you can't fucking swim, Dean?" Sam exclaims suddenly, voice edging on screaming.

"I just can't, alright?" Dean shouts back as loud as he can with how wrecked his voice is from all the coughing and throwing up. "I can't fucking swim, what do you want me to say?"

As always, the admission takes the wind out of Sam's sail.

"Yeah, I – I noticed, but... Dean, you taught _me_ how to swim for crying out loud," Sam says and picks up the pace to catch up with Dean.

"That's different," Dean says after a beat.

"But – "

"We are not talking about it, Sam."

Sam tightens his lips and turns away. They walk the rest of the way to the motel in silence, only disturbed by the chirring of cicadas.

* * *

Once Sam unlocks the door Dean makes a beeline for his bed and Sam's the only thing that stops him from falling in, wet clothes and all.

"No way you're sleeping in that," he says and maneuvers Dean towards the bathroom. Dean's already tired enough to let himself be lead, but he's fortunately still too lucid to let Sam undress him – to Sam's relief. Sam drops his clothes into the bathtub and throws some clean underwear he found in Dean's duffel at his brother.

Dean catches it, but his eyes are fixed on the leather jacket hanging over the edge of the bath tube.

"You're not supposed to let the leather get wet," he mumbles and Sam rolls his eyes.

"You should have thought about that before you let yourself be pushed into a lake wearing it," he says matter-of-factly. Dean's shoulders slump and then he clumsily takes off his wet boxers and pulls on the the clean, dry ones Sam threw at him few seconds earlier.

"Sleep," he mumbled then and pushes past Sam, going straight for the bed. This time, Sam lets him fall onto it.

"How come you don't know how to swim?" he asks softly then, coming over to sit on his own bed across from Dean's limp form.

Dean turns his head from where he's lying on his stomach to face Sam. His eyes are mostly closed when he answers. "Just never learned it."

"But you tought me," Sam points out again, completely perplexed.

"I know how to swim in theory," Dean explains, voice muffled but annoyed all the same. "I just can't do it."

Sam stares at his brother, at the hand-shaped, half-faded bruises all over his forearms and upper arms, the purple and yellow blots all over his back.

"I'm gonna teach you how to do it," Sam says then and Dean groans, loud and long.

"No fucking way," he says, "is my younger brother teaching me how to swim."

"Would you rather if Dad did it?" Sam asks and watches as Dean grimaces. "Yeah," Sam snorts. "That's what I thought."

"I hate you," Dean mumbles but his breathing is already evening out, despite how rough and ragged and wet it still sounds, his eyes slipping completely shut.

Sam thinks of all he knows about drowning victims and worries at his lower lip for a moment, thinking of water in lungs and all the things he probably read but can't remember. But he knows he can't bring Dean to a hospital, anyway – Dad would pitch a fit of the century and besides, Dean seems fine at the moment, aside from being beat to hell and humiliated like never before – Sam purses his lips in a supressed smirk because there's no way he's ever going to let Dean live this down. Once he starts feeling better, of course.

Sam contemplates reading the rest of his book because there's no way he's going to sleep tonight, but then he remembers he left it lying, together with the flashlight, under the tree by the lake. A wave of irritation washes over him but he swallows it down, past the lump in his throat that formed there the exact same moment he realized that Dean had almost drowned today.

He turns off the lights instead, hearing Dean's low murmur of appreciation. He sits down cross-legged onto his bed and listens to his brother's ragged breathing as he sleeps.


End file.
